A database of question-asking mechanisms found in interactive fiction—parser-based, choice-based, and hybrid. Each entry describes what the mechanism is and how it works, with examples. Answers to examples appear in invisible ink (highlight to reveal).
How the system remembers, tracks, and responds to what the player has done. These mechanisms operate beneath the surface of the text, governing the shape of the experience over time: what branches, what converges, what echoes, what counts.
A choice that splits the story into two or more paths, each with different content. The simplest structural mechanism in choice-based IF and the most expensive to author, since every fork multiplies the text required. True branching is rare at scale—most apparent forks are shallow, rejoining within a few passages. Deep branching produces genuinely different stories but means most players see only a fraction of the content. The relationship between perceived branching (what the player believes diverged) and actual branching (what the data structure shows) is often wide.
EXAMPLE: > Save the village — leads to 12 passages about defense, fire, and gratitude NEITHER PATH REFERENCES THE OTHER; THEY ARE ENTIRELY SEPARATE STORYLINES THAT BOTH END AT THE SAME CHAPTER BREAK
> Flee to the mountains — leads to 12 different passages about guilt, survival, and exile
Branches that rejoin. The player made a choice three passages ago, but now all paths funnel into the same scene. The illusion of divergence was real in the middle but false at the endpoints. Convergence is the most common structural pattern in commercial choice-based IF because it keeps authoring costs manageable while preserving the feeling of consequence. The craft lies in making the convergence invisible: the rejoined passage should read differently depending on which path brought the player there, even if the text is mostly identical. State variables, swapped adjectives, or a single conditional sentence can sustain the illusion.
EXAMPLE: [After choosing to fight or negotiate, both paths lead to:] THE SAME PASSAGE, BUT IF THE PLAYER FOUGHT, A LATER LINE MENTIONS THEIR WOUND; IF THEY NEGOTIATED, IT MENTIONS THE TRUCE TOKEN THEY CARRY
You reach the river crossing at dusk.
A choice whose effects surface much later. The player gave bread to a beggar in chapter one; in chapter four, the beggar turns out to be a disguised prince who remembers the kindness. The mechanism creates a sense that the world is watching and remembering. Technically, it is just a flag checked at a later node. Experientially, it transforms the story from a sequence of isolated decisions into a web of causation. The delay is the point: consequences that fire immediately feel transactional; consequences that fire later feel organic.
EXAMPLE: [Chapter 1] You give your last coin to the old woman at the crossroads. THE FLAG "gave_coin_to_stranger" WAS SET FOUR CHAPTERS EARLIER AND CHECKED HERE
[Chapter 5] A stranger steps from the shadows and blocks the assassin's blade. "You showed me kindness once," she says. "I have not forgotten."
The invisible bookkeeping that makes consequence possible. A flag is a boolean: the door is locked or unlocked, the NPC is alive or dead, the player has or hasn't seen the letter. A counter is a number: trust level, hunger, turns since the lamp was lit. Flags and counters are checked at decision points to determine which text appears, which options are available, and which outcomes occur. The player never sees them directly, but their effects are everywhere. Some games expose their state tracking through a status bar or character sheet; most keep it hidden.
EXAMPLE: [Internal state: suspicion_level = 3] AT suspicion_level < 2, THE GUARD SAYS "Move along"; AT ≥ 4, THE GUARD ARRESTS THE PLAYER
The guard studies your face. "You again. I'm watching you."
The story has more than one conclusion, determined by the player's cumulative choices. Endings may be ranked (good/bad/best), thematically grouped, or deliberately ambiguous about which is "correct." The mechanism reframes the entire playthrough retroactively: the ending tells the player what their choices meant. Some games have two endings; some have dozens. The number matters less than whether the player feels the ending was earned—that it followed from what they did rather than from which button they pressed in the final scene.
EXAMPLE: *** You have died *** THE FIRST IS A FAILURE STATE; THE SECOND IS OPTIMAL COMPLETION; THE THIRD IS A "PYRRHIC" ENDING TRIGGERED BY SPECIFIC MORAL CHOICES
[or]
*** You have won ***
Score: 350 out of 350
[or]
*** You have escaped, but at what cost? ***
Meta-commands that let the player reverse or replay decisions. UNDO rewinds one turn. SAVE and RESTORE let the player bookmark a state and return to it. These mechanisms sit outside the fiction—no character in the story is saving their progress—but they profoundly shape how the player engages with choices. A player who saves before every decision treats choices as experiments; one who plays without saving treats them as commitments. Some games restrict or disable these commands to enforce consequence. A few fold them into the fiction: the player character literally has the power to rewind time.
EXAMPLE: > SAVE WITHOUT SAVE/RESTORE, THE PLAYER WOULD NEED TO REPLAY FROM THE BEGINNING; WITH IT, DEATH BECOMES INFORMATION RATHER THAN PUNISHMENT
Saved.
> DRINK POTION
The world goes dark. You have been poisoned.
*** You have died ***
> RESTORE
Restored.
> POUR POTION ON FLOOR
The stone hisses and dissolves, revealing a hidden passage.
A counter that increments with each command, creating a finite resource: time. The lamp burns for 300 turns, then darkness. The bomb detonates at turn 50. The tide comes in after 20 moves. Turn-counting converts the player's leisurely exploration into a resource-management problem. Every EXAMINE and speculative GO NORTH costs a turn, which means information-gathering competes with action. Some counters are visible (a status-line clock); others are hidden until they fire. The mechanism is at its most effective when the player senses urgency without knowing the exact limit.
EXAMPLE: [Status line: Lantern (getting dim)] THE PLAYER MUST DECIDE: SPEND TURNS READING THE INSCRIPTION NOW, OR PRESERVE LAMP-LIGHT FOR DEEPER EXPLORATION
> EXAMINE INSCRIPTION
Faded runes cover the wall. You'll need more light to read them, but the lantern won't last much longer.
Answers to examples are in invisible ink after each question (highlight to reveal)
Like this